


Smoke Signals

by verbaepulchellae



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Banter, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Domesticity, F/M, First Time, Friendship, Outdoor Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Smut, Supernatural Elements, shot gunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-03 17:42:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6620161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbaepulchellae/pseuds/verbaepulchellae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a place by the tidal river that Clarke and Bellamy like to go, sometimes, just to take a break. It’s a clearing in the trees, grassy with moss covered stumps and the soft smell of rich, damp earth always seems to linger. They lie side by side in the grass to look up at the night sky, their origin and lost home. But the wind whispers soft and sweet over their faces and reminds them as it moans through the trees, that this place is also theirs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke Signals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raincityruckus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raincityruckus/gifts).



> I chose to go with the prompt: "Just give me 1500 words of sexy shotgunning and I'll be as happy as a pig in shit." There was also mention of blow jobs, banter and domesticity. Well, babe, I hope I delivered. <3

There’s a place by the tidal river that Clarke and Bellamy like to go, sometimes, just to take a break. It’s a clearing in the trees, grassy with moss covered stumps and the soft smell of rich, damp earth always seems to linger. They lie side by side in the grass to look up at the night sky, their origin and lost home. But the wind whispers soft and sweet over their faces and reminds them as it moans through the trees, that this place is also theirs. 

They’re a few years older now, and have responsibilities in their growing clan that aren’t quite as dire as when they were fighting for the hundred’s lives, but that’s probably for the best. They both sit on the Council; they both take their duties seriously as ambassadors and negotiators with Trikru and the twelve clans; they both seek the same comfort from each other that they’ve always found. So it’s on days when the peace and happiness seem just a little too bright and glaring around them, too surreal compared to nightmares they share and the dull ache of memory, that they come here. 

It’s an escape from many things: from their past, their present, from everything but the simple, novel pleasure of being together on Earth. 

Clarke likes these nights, the way Bellamy’s smile comes easier, looser on his mouth. There’s something slow between them, when they get away like this. It’s a low burning in Clarke’s stomach and an energy in her hands that she doesn’t know how to direct. Sometimes she watches Bellamy instead of the sky, follows the way his face changes as he talks. Sometimes he catches her, other times she catches him watching her instead: the shock of his dark, bright eyes so close after the distant light of the stars thrilling in unqualifiable ways.

It’s nothing new between them, an old habitual pattern they don’t talk about, but out in the quiet of the woods, it’s more intense, amplified. Earth seems to do that.

**

Nyko hands Clarke a small packet of seeds and a bundle of dried buds of leaves. “Medicinal,” he tells her. “Good for chronic pain. Helps limit seizures. Increases the appetite. Usually we have our sick inhale its smoke for immediate relief, but you can also make infusions with oils you’re treating someone with weak lungs, mix it into food.” 

“Huh,” Bellamy says, leaning over Clarke’s shoulder to see better and when Clarke glances up at him in warning, he smirks. “Monty and Jasper are going to love that.”

Nyko smiles dryly back at them. “So you’re familiar with this one then.”

“It was grown on the Ark,” Clarke says as she accepts the packet from Nyko and tucks it into her bag. “It’s use wasn’t limited to medical purposes, although that was the intention.”

“There are many uses for it down here, Wanheda.”

“Just ‘Clarke’,” Bellamy corrects him with a frown. “Or if you’re feeling like you want an epithet, go for ‘Councillor’.”

Nyko considers him coolly for a long moment and as Bellamy starts to bristle next to her, Clarke has to remind herself that elbowing Bellamy in the side isn’t going to help matters. “I meant no disrespect,” Nyko says at last, and Bellamy nods stiffly.

“And none was taken,” Clarke says with deliberate lightness. “Although Bellamy’s right, Wanheda is an outdated name, and one I don’t share alone. Not anymore.” Bellamy shifts his weight behind her so he’s just brushing against her arm and Clarke resists the urge to turn and smile up at him: it would only encourage him.

“Here,” Bellamy offers as he sets down his pack on the table where Nyko has laid out the different packets of herbs. “With respects from the Chancellor,” he adds. He carefully unpacks the sharp, delicate tools for surgery and stitching. Nyko looks them over carefully, deferring to Clarke’s explanations when he finds ones he’s less familiar with. Most of them have components Nyko knows, but Arkadian models are made of stainless steel, sterilizable in ways many Trikru tools aren’t.

“I think that went well,” Clarke says as she swings up onto her horse after they’ve emerged from Nyko’s large thatched home that doubles as the healing center for the newly rebuilt TonDC and she shades her eyes against the glare of the sun, taking in the new thriving streets filled with stalls for trade and food. “I mean, some unnecessary posturing, but you can’t win them all.”

Bellamy scoffs as he mounts his own horse. “Unnecessary posturing? Clarke, I was perfectly civil.”

“For you,” Clarke teases, then grins at the way Bellamy rolls his eyes. He settles his horse into a walk next to hers and they pick their way through the crowd children who’ve come out to see the yearly trading delegates from the Skaikru, come all the way back from the ocean. 

It’s a three day trip back to the shore and with Bellamy at her side, Clarke is happy.

**

“Seriously?” Jasper crows as he holds up a small packet of seeds and the bundle dried buds. “Oh my god, Clarke. Do you know what this is?”

“Show me?” Monty asks and when Jasper holds up the sharp smelling herbs, Monty’s face lights up. “No way.”

“Alright,” Clarke says, holding out her hand for the packet back. “Isn’t this what you guys got arrested for on the Ark?”

“Yeah, but Clarke,” Monty protests, “that was space grown weed. This is Earth grown.”

“It’s like modern-retro-vintage,” Jasper says fondly. “It’s gotta be better than anything we had up on the Ark.”

“You guys know this is for medicinal use.” Clarke grins in spite of herself at her friends’ delight. “Most of this has to go towards treatment.”

“Clarke,” Jasper pleads, dragging out her name. “You can’t deny us this. This is what brought me and Monty to the ground. This is our privilege. Nay, our birthright.”

“I said ‘most’,” Clarke reminds him lightly. “I didn’t say all.”

“Remember when people didn’t think Clarke was fun?” Monty asks, leaning an elbow on Jasper’s shoulders. “Damn, were we wrong.”

Clarke gives a third of the seeds to Monty and Jasper to grow for recreational use while the rest she keeps for medicinal purposes. She sets aside a portion as a failsafe against crop failure, one lesson they’ve already learned the hard way. They’ve been on Earth now for two years and they’ve survived. She figures they’re allowed a little fun.

**

Bellamy joins Clarke when he’s off his shifts in the early afternoon, bringing her a slice of nutty, seed crusted bread slathered with fresh butter or a bowl full of strawberries sprinkled in sugar. He likes to watch her eat, just props his chin in his hand as he sits on the stool he’s drawn up to her desk and updates her about the new Guard recruits, his plans for the little thatched cottage he wants to build. He makes sure she’s finished her snack before he lets her chase him out of her hospital to go get the sleep he always needs to catch up on.

Clarke returns the favor in the evenings he has to work a late guard shift. She’ll scale the ladder of their guard tower and bring Bellamy canteen of coffee and thick slices of veggies and meat over wild rice. They sit together on the deck and watch the sunset, Bellamy sharing the portions Clarke’s brought him.

Sometimes they don’t talk about much, and sometimes they get going on their future here by the ocean, indulging in idle plans that come and go. Occassionaly they talk about the past, both that on Earth and on the Ark.

“Have you tried what Jasper and Monty grew?” Clarke asks one night, hooking her hands and chin over one of the low railing bars, looking out over the twilight lit medicinal garden behind the hospital. Bellamy shrugs next to her, putting down his bowl. He leans his arms on the same railing and considers her.

“Not yet,” he says. “Have you?”

Clarke shakes her head. “I was thinking about it though. Back on the Ark, there was one party Wells and I went to where we tried it. It was fun, he got so goofy.”

“Huh,” Bellamy says with a smile touching his mouth. “That sounds nice”

Clarke nods, a little sad, a little fond. “Did you ever? On the Ark?”

“Once. After.” Bellamy says it with the little wave of his hand that means _after all the shit went down_ that he uses when vocalizing things weighs too heavy on him. “I don’t know. I wasn’t in a good place. I didn’t like it that much.”

“Would you ever want to try it again? With me?” Clarke asks, knocking her foot against Bellamy’s. “I was thinking we’ve earned a night off. And Monty said it’s good.”

“Huh. Alright,” Bellamy agrees easily and then chuckles, shaking his head. “Getting high with Clarke Griffin. Who would have thought?”

**

The path to their clearing is winding and roots of trees always seem to be breaking ground, tripping Clarke so that she stumbles into Bellamy where she was sure the ground was even last time they came. Bellamy just steadies her with a hand on her arm. The birds trill around them and there’s the buzz of insects from deep in the dappled depths of the trees, expectant, waiting for something. It’s still light when they reach their clearing and they flop down together, enjoying the sweet breeze that greets them, familiar and welcoming. 

Clarke digs into her pack and pulls out the two joints Monty had given her, puts them on the grass beside her before she falls back into the grass and looks up at the evening sky, sighing. Bellamy stretches out on his side next to her, propping himself up to watch her face. 

The clouds race across the sky, golden, pink and blue and Clarke knows that the warm feeling in her chest is happiness when Bellamy unpacks his bag and passes her a hunk of strong cheese on a hard, flat cracker. The flavor of it still catches Clarke by surprise, even after a few years on the ground, it’s only recently they’ve been able to regularly enjoy foods that aren’t just nuts and berries and hurriedly prepared meat. 

Bellamy offers Clarke the tinder and she holds one of the joints between her lips and tries to catch a spark. It takes a few tries, but then the tip ignites and she’s laughing in surprise, trying to suck the sweetbitter smoke into her lungs too fast and ends up coughing.

“Smooth,” Bellamy says dryly as he passes her a canteen of water and thumps her on the back.

“Yeah, yeah, go on,” Clarke rasps and passes Bellamy the joint. “It’s been a while.” Bellamy delicately takes it from her fingers, his large ones brushing hers and watches her as he pulls the smoke into his lungs, the tip flaring a bright auburn. Bellamy lets the smoke out slow, and it wisps around his face before he exhales he rest of it quickly. 

“Show off,” Clarke mutters as Bellamy passes it back to her.

They smoke it fast between them, taping off the ashes that gather at the end. The drug settles in Clarke’s body, heavy and good in her arms and legs and she gets caught up in trying to decide what the best ingredients would be to capture the right pigment of orange for the late setting sun. Bellamy grins at her, braced on his side and smoothing his hand over the grass.

“Rust,” he offers. “The orange berries that we definitely can’t eat. Wild flowers.”

Clarke flops down next to him, wriggling her way into Bellamy’s space because he’s right there and nice to touch. He lets her, puts a hand on her hip, thumb sneaking under the hem of her shirt to press lightly at the skin there. Here, alone and secluded in this private place in the woods, it’s always been alright to be this close to Bellamy. Touch comes easily between them, especially now, when Clarke’s senses are heightened and the whispering of the trees suggest that the sharp angle of Bellamy’s jaw would be fine enough to cut her finger on; that the way his eyes go soft when he looks at her would be reflected in the way his hands might touch her neck. That the coarse way he talks would be how he handled the rest of her. The thought makes Clarke shiver and she reaches for the second joint, sticks it into Bellamy’s mouth so that he’s laughing in surprise and sparks the flint for him until he catches it and the end glows orange like the sky.

“I don’t know if I’m good for a whole ‘nother one, Clarke,” Bellamy protests as he passes it down to her and then rolls on his back. “It’s nice, though. Good.”

“Right?” Clarke agrees. “Well, we can save most of it for later.” She watches Bellamy through the curling smoke between them, the way the smoke furls in the breeze mimics the ruffle of his curls. It seems to beckon to her, _come closer_ , and suddenly she wants him. She takes a quick inhale, then holds the smoke in her lungs. 

The leaves rustle excitedly in the trees above them.

“Here,” Clarke says, rolling over onto her stomach. “Wells and I, we shared. Like this.” She holds her fist in front of her lips and Bellamy raises an eyebrow at her before he braces up enough on his elbows to fit his mouth to the open hollow of her hand, his slight stubble good and rough against her skin. Clarke exhales slowly, lets the smoke pour through her hand and feels the ghost of it when Bellamy draws it in on a sharp inhale. 

They’re so close, sharing one breath, Bellamy’s wild curls tickling her forehead. Clarke slits her eyes open and counts the freckles on the bridge of Bellamy’s nose before he pulls back and turns his head, blowing smoke away from them both across the small clearing. 

“Fun, right?” Clarke asks. 

“That’s one word for it,” Bellamy says, voice a little shot with smoke and he lets himself slide back onto the ground, head tipped back in the grass. He reaches out for the joint in her hand and finds her bare arm instead. His fingers linger there, rough callouses against the soft hair of her forearm. “Huh.” Bellamy clears his throat and turns his head, watches his fingers trail down her arm to her hand singing a trail in their wake that Clarke sees as sunset orange, as burning weed and desire. 

Clarke watches his face, the way his eyes go soft, the way his lips part ever so slightly when he ghosts his fingers over her own and she turns her hand slowly under his, into his palm, to let him pluck the joint from her fingers. 

The wind shivers through the grass and smoke rolls wild around Bellamy’s face when he takes a long hit and then slides his eyes to her face. He holds up his curled hand to his mouth, quirks an eyebrow, an invitation for Clarke to come share. Clarke leans in, reaches an arm across Bellamy’s broad chest to brace herself on the ground and fits her mouth against the heel of his hand. Bellamy’s breath is sweet on her lips even caught up in the rush of smoke that’s sharp and vaguely bitter. 

When Bellamy drops his hand away, Clarke stays braced over him, inches from his face, only turning to let the smoke sneak from her nose. Bellamy shifts secretively under her. When she turns back to him, he slowly raises the joint between two fingers and offers it to her, just brushing the filter of it across her lower lip. “Go on,” he urges her. “Go on, huh?” 

She draws the the end of it in so that his fingers touch her pursed lips and takes a careful hit, Bellamy’s eyes intent on her face. He pulls it gently from her mouth and begins to raise his other hand for her to blow through, but Clarke bypasses it and drops her lips to Bellamy’s mouth instead.

He makes a surprised, shocked noised under her, but opens up when Clarke tugs his lower lip between her teeth, lets her seal their lips together and breath into his mouth. Smoke wisps out between them, Bellamy not totally prepared, Clarke more intent on chasing the smoke into Bellamy’s mouth with her tongue to give it to him slow. Bellamy’s hand touches her cheek, her ear, clenches briefly in her hair, lost but hungry for her and Clarke leans into his touch even as she flicks her tongue against Bellamy’s own. 

“Well, come on,” she whispers, pulling back when Bellamy shudders underneath her. “You’re turn.”

Bellamy stares at her for a moment, then surges up underneath her, crowding her back but not letting her escape when he catches his free arm around her waist and rolls them over so that he’s braced above her. He takes only a cursory hit before he’s dropping down to fit his mouth on hers again. Clarke catches his face between her hands, pulls the smoke from his lungs and lets him kiss her as she holds it tight in her own. She kisses him for a long while, then stalls him just long enough to exhale, a quick puff of smoke through her mouth, before pulling him back to her, nothing to share between them except the soft movement of chapped lips and the slick slide of tongues.

“Do you want more?” Bellamy mumbles into her, not drawing back enough to lose the pressure of her lips against his own. He’s still got the joint held carefully to the side between his thumb and forefinger and Clarke cuts her eyes to it and shakes her head.

“Not of that,” Clarke says. 

“Thank God,” Bellamy groans and slots his mouth back over hers. He does something with the joint that Clarke doesn’t see so that he has his hand free and he’s cupping her face, thumb smoothing over her cheek. “This is good, right? Clarke, this is so good.” He kiss turns biting, a little rough and Clarke matches him, crunching up and catching her hands in his hair to keep him where she wants him. Damn, but she’s hungry for him too. 

He presses into her, broad chest and strong arms caging her into the earth, and his breath comes in strong, quick huffs against her mouth. He tastes, sharp and smoky with the drug, and underneath that something deeper, a cool, dark sweetness that is somehow so Bellamy that Clarke feels like she’s already hooked on him. Yeah, this is good.

“Here,” Bellamy says, breaking away and bracing himself up over her, hands dropping to the hem of her shift and barely teasing his fingers underneath before he’s tugging at it. “Let’s get this off. I want to feel you, Clarke. Gotta feel your skin.” Clarke only manages to hinder him by shoving his jacket back off his shoulders, caught up in the idea of Bellamy’s skin hot against her own. His shirt pulls tight over his chest when his arms get caught and his first instinct is to tense against the restrictive fabric.

“Hey, you’re ok,” Clarke soothes, cupping the nape of his neck and guiding him back to her mouth, giving him a slow kiss, sucking on his bottom lip until he makes a quiet, sweet sound in his throat. She pushes his jacket down his arms and Bellamy takes over, pulling it off and then bundling it roughly, slipping a hand under her neck to lift her head and slide his jacket underneath. The gesture is weirdly touching and Clarke blinks up at him, a little drug dazed and suddenly very aware of how much she loves Bellamy Blake.

Bellamy noses at her. “Can I get your shirt off now?” He asks her and Clarke grins, reaches down to grab her own shirt and wiggles out of it, catching her tight, cutoff tank on the way that she wears as a bra. When she gets them free of her head, Bellamy’s looking at her with dark, bright eyes. His gaze snaps back to her face, wild and a little feral. 

“Sorry, was I supposed to let you do that part?” Clarke teases him and Bellamy huffs, runs a hand up her side, his rough fingers catching on her skin in a way that shoots sparks through her. 

“Any time you want to strip down for me, you won’t catch me complaining,” Bellamy assures her. “You’re fucking hot, Clarke. I mean, shit, babe.” He traces her collarbone, fingers light and grazing, curls his hand lightly around her shoulder, just feeling her skin. Clarke closes her eyes, tilts her head back for Bellamy’s fingers when they skip across the delicate skin of her neck. The grass is fresh and springy under her back, Bellamy’s warm and solid above her and Clarke feels a little bit like she’s floating but at the same time has never felt more grounded in her life. 

Bellamy flattens his hand against the side of her neck and drags his palm down until he’s cupping her breast and Clarke sighs and arches under him. Bellamy squeezes her lightly and then he’s kissing her again, lips gentle on hers, catching her light gasp when he brushes his thumb over her nipple and it peaks under the pad of it. 

“More,” Clarke insists and Bellamy chuckles.

“Demanding,” Bellamy tells her, but rubs his thumb back and forth over her, sending a thrumming ache down to Clarke’s cunt. Bellamy carefully catches her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and toggles it, gentle and then increasingly rough when Clarke growls into his mouth. “Mm, you like that, huh?” Bellamy smirks even as he continues to kiss her. He’s getting lazy about it, a little sloppy and indulgent and wet and Clarke curls her tongue around his and they both groan when he pinches her harder than expected in response. 

“Yeah, I fucking like it,” Clarke growls. “What are you going to do about it, Bellamy?”

“Make you like it more,” Bellamy promises hotly with a smirk that does little ease the way Clarke can feel her clit pulse. 

Bellamy ducks his head and laves his tongue over her breast, pulling her nipple into his mouth and sucking hard. Clarke keeps him close with her fingers tight in his hair. He’s straddling one of her legs, and Clarke shifts, presses her leg up and his cock is hard and hot even through the layers of their clothing. Bellamy bites at her, finds her other breast and gets his hands rough on her and Clarke flexes her leg again. She grasps the back of his shirt and pulls it up and over his head, tucks her face into his neck and licks a wet trail up his neck to catch at his earlobe and suck on it. Clarke could listen to the groan he gives her in response again and again and again. 

“Up,” Clarke says when most of her breaths are just gasps, too fast and shallow in her throat to count as breathing. “Bellamy, up.”

“Why?” Bellamy growls into her skin and Clarke gives him a sharp tug on his hair. He sinks his teeth into her skin, holding on and worrying and Clarke nearly lets him get away with it until she presses up with her leg again and feels his cock against her thigh, feels her mouth water at the thought of getting it down her throat.

“Just do as I say for once in your life,” Clarke bitches, “and you might just get your cock wet.”

“I get my cock wet,” Bellamy bitches back, but he rolls and pulls her with him so she winds up flopped across his chest, her chin on his sternum. He fits a hand around her jaw and urges her up so he can kiss her again. 

“Sure, Bellamy, sure.” Clarke laughs and then ducks her head and bites her way down his chest, likes the way his hands find her shoulders and he squeezes at her gently. She gets to the belt buckle of his pants and undoes it quick and fast as the breath shudders out of Bellamy’s lungs above her.

Clarke slides her hand into Bellamy’s pants and finds his cock and fuck, he’s so thick and warm, and when she gives him a quick stroke, his foreskin slides smooth up over the head of his dick and they both groan at that. “Shit, Clarke,” Bellamy mutters. “Your hand feels really good.”

“I’ll give you more than that,” Clarke promises as she pulls him out and nudges his legs further apart so she can sit between them more comfortably. Bellamy laughs, a happy, surprised sound that bursts from him and Clarke grins as well.

“Why am I absolutely not surprised,” Bellamy chuckles, “that you feel the need to take a compliment as a personal challenge to do better?”

“Hush,” Clarke tells him and leans forward to kiss his stomach, sloppy and wet and laughing into his skin when she still feels the chuckle in his belly. “I’m working, Bellamy.”

“You’re getting me off,” Bellamy goads her and there’s laughter in his voice but also wonder as his hand moves from her shoulder to her hair to pet her. “You’re getting me off,” he says again grinning up at the sky.

“Yeah I am,” Clarke whispers back. “Now shut up,” she says, giving him another long, slow stroke, “and let me take care of you.”

Bellamy’s soft, surprised exhale when Clarke licks messily over the head of his cock is just as good as the burst of flavor of him on her tongue, rich and earthy just like the smell of their clearing. Clarke licks the head again and again, chasing the flavor of him and liking that it makes Bellamy swear above her and the hand on her head fist tighter in her hair. She moans at that as she takes the head of his cock into her mouth and sucks increasingly hard at him until Bellamy’s hips stutter under her mouth and Clarke takes him deeper. She zig-zags her tongue along the underside of his dick and hums around him as she sucks gently, bobbing her head.

“Fuck, Clarke,” Bellamy murmurs above her and when Clarke flicks her eyes to his face, he’s got his head thrown back, the long column of his neck exposed. Clarke wants to bite at him, mark him as hers, but letting go of his cock for even a moment seems like too much. She settles for scratching her nails against his side, watching the way his skins flushes in the wake of her fingers, the way his breath catches and he grips her hair tighter. It sends aftershocks of sweet, tight pain percolating over her head, heightening the sweet need in her stomach and ache between her legs. Clarke moans, dips deeper on his cock, almost to the base. It slides in easy, wet with precum and spit and Clarke likes the way her lips go a little numb from the constant slide against Bellamy’s dick.

“Think you can take it deeper, babe?” Bellamy asks softly. “Think you can take all of it?” And damn, but Clarke wants to now. She pushes her head against his hand, asking for more as she tries to relax her throat and Bellamy instantly loosens his fist and scratches his nails over her scalp, mussing her hair up ridiculously but Clarke doesn’t care.

“Oh fuck, that’s it,” Bellamy growls as Clarke manages to work the head of his cock just into the back of her throat before it feels like too much and she has to pull back. “That’s okay, that’s okay,” Bellamy sooths as she splutters a bit. “Try again, you got it.” Clarke does, whining around him as Bellamy drags his blunt nails down her neck and this time she settles into the stretch of her throat around his cock, swallows around him and Bellamy fists her hair again. “Aw, fuck. Yes, Clarke.”

Clarke can’t really grin around the thick stretch of his cock, but she pets at his leg, happy at Bellamy’s pleasure and slowly draws back before taking him in again, letting him sink even further into her throat before she slurps back up his cock to focus on the head. Clarke settles into the easy rhythm of it, the repetition of it feels so good and Bellamy’s soft groans and encouragement spark happily in her head.

Bellamy’s breath gets rough and he pulls her hair gently, tugs her up and off.

“You’re so good at that, Clarke. Shit, too good.” He catches the back of her neck and pulls her up to kiss him. “That’s so hot,” Bellamy says darkly against her lips. “I can taste that you’ve been sucking cock, Clarke. My cock.”

“Like how it tastes?” Clarke teases him as he pulls her into his lap and he’s working a hand down her pants, fingers parting the lips of her cunt and touching her gently until he finds her swollen clit and rubs circles into it. “Fuck, Bellamy,” Clarke whines. “That feels good. More.”

“Yeah? You like me rubbing you off?” Bellamy laughs and when Clarke turns her face to him for a kiss, she catches sight of Bellamy’s smile. It’s so big, all consuming and as bright as the stars above them in the sky and Clarke has to laugh as well. He kisses her grin and swallows the bright happy noise of it, his smile stretching impossibly wider as he slides his fingers along her cunt and sinks them into her, two of them, large and thick and perfect.

“Oh that,” Clarke moans at the tight, sweet feeling of being filled. “I like that Bellamy.”

“Yeah, Clarke, I can tell. Look at you, so hot for it.” Bellamy murmurs, crooking his fingers and searching carefully until he finds a spot that makes Clarke writhe in his lap, rock back down against his fingers. Bellamy taps his fingers lightly inside her and then rubs simultaneously at her clit and up into her and Clarke gasps, high and desperate.

“Just like that,” Clarke urges, “Oh, Bellamy, give it to me like that.”

“You ask me sounding like that and you’re going to get it, Clarke. Don’t you worry, you’ll get it.” Bellamy breathes into her neck and keeps up the sweet rub of his fingers, growls at the way Clarke gets wetter and slicker around him. “What do you think, huh? Want something more than my fingers?”

Clarke is laughing but it’s mixed up with her gasps so it just sounds shuddery and kind of desperate when she says, “Yeah, yeah. I want your cock.”

“Thought so,” Bellamy says smugly into her skin as he mouths at her shoulder. “Go on, get up, I want you against that tree.”

Clarke rolls out of his lap and staggers to her feet. She manages to shuck her pants even as Bellamy picks up his jacket where it’s still lying on the ground and drapes it over her shoulders. “Bellamy,” Clarke laughs as Bellamy runs his hands down her back to scoop under her ass and lift her. She wraps her legs around his waist helpfully. “Are you trying to fuck me or get me dressed again.”

“Just don’t want your pretty back getting all roughed up,” Bellamy gripes into her neck as he leans her against the tree and lines his cock up carefully. “Excuse me for looking out for you,” he mumbles, seeking out her mouth for a kiss. Then he spits in his palm to slick himself up, shifts Clarke’s weight in his arms and lets her slide down onto his thick cock. The head of it is so much broader than his two fingers and Clarke has to catch her breath at the way he fills her up so immediately and completely. 

“Shit, hold on,” Clarke whines when he’s halfway into her and Bellamy hums gently and keeps her where she is, sneaking his hands under his jacket and rubbing at her lower back. “God, Bellamy. So big, you’re filling me up,” Clarke whispers and fists her hands into Bellamy’s hair to make him kiss her. Under the hazy drug in her brain, everything feels that much more intense, Bellamy’s cock inside her, Bellamy’s lips and tongue pressing against her own, the rough bite of the bark through the soft lining of Bellamy’s jacket. Everything is coming to her through the filter of Bellamy and it feels so, so right.

“Feel real good, Clarke,” Bellamy says against her mouth and rocks his hips a bit more, letting her get used to what he’s given her already. “More?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clarke gasps as Bellamy sinks just a bit further into her. “All of it.”

“God, okay,” Bellamy breaths and lets her down further until she’s flush against the cradle of his hips and she’s panting sharp against his mouth. “Oh babe, yeah,” Bellamy sighs, “Yeah, there we go. That feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Mmhmm,” Clarke hums as she nuzzles her face into Bellamy’s neck. She squeezes her legs tighter around Bellamy’s back and flexes up against him to get the right kind of friction she wants and Bellamy groans and rocks into her, hard and firm and perfect. 

Most of Clarke’s back is pressed into the trunk of the tree, keeping her anchored for Bellamy’s thrusts, and Clarke leans her head back as Bellamy sucks a kiss into her shoulder, getting mean about it when she moans, grabs at him. He noses aside his jacket on her so he can run his mouth along her collarbone, a hot, wet point of contact that makes Clarke arch under him, scrabble at his back. He fucks her harder and Clarke nuzzles his face until he kisses her, firm lips and demanding tongue, but somehow still so soft and sweet that Clarke feels adored. Through her hazy perception it almost feels like the tree pushes back against her, pushing her further into Bellamy as the wind whips at him from behind, driving him forward.

Earth’s been pushing them together ever since they landed. It’s nothing new.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Rashaka and Notmylady for their beta work.
> 
> Comments and kudos always appreciated <3


End file.
